5
EMILIA
I should’ve regretted not booking that flight to Tokyo when I woke up this morning, but I didn’t. I was glad I didn’t book it because that meant I wouldn’t have to leave Montreal. It meant I would stay here and not run from what I truly wanted.
My clit throbbed every time I thought about Dean and what he made me do last night, and even on my drive to work, I had to resist the urge to touch myself. He had me in a chokehold. One that was so tight I was sure it would kill me one day.
By the time I walked out of the elevator at work, my body was tingling, and my mind was a mess. I had thought about every possible scenario of what could happen today. There was no day in the office without Dean giving me a reason to spiral. Mentally, sexually, emotionally. The man was a waking weapon, and I was always unarmed.
I slipped into my office, trying to collect myself and start the morning in a slow manner—without having to think about Dean all the time. But the universe had other plans.
A soft knock came at my door not five minutes later, followed by Leann’s head poking in. She smiled gently. “Morning, Emilia. Dean wants you in the conference room. Meeting’s starting in ten.”
I furrowed my brows. “What meeting? There’s nothing on my calendar.”
“Last-minute strategy session for the Morrison case. Everyone from the litigation team is already in the conference room.”
“Oh…”
I looked at my computer screen, then past Leann to Dean’s office door. Starting the morning with a meeting like that meant more work. Not that I didn’t want to work, or disliked it, but every time I had to be there for one of those meetings, I would get bombarded with emails and phone calls.
Well, maybe it was a good thing. Maybe that was, I would get my mind off Dean. At least, after this meeting.
“Okay, thank you, Leann.”
“Of course. Hey, you look like you’ve had a good night’s sleep. Are you feeling better?”
she asked.
If she only knew what had made me sleep so well last night…
“Much,”
I replied with a tight smile.
“I’m glad. And, hey, I’m having lunch with Brit and Kayla down at The Canteen. You’re welcome to join.”
With all the work I’d have to deal with, I wasn’t so sure I had time for lunch. But it sounded nice. Another way to get my mind off Dean. “Sounds perfect.”
“Great! We’ll wait for you by the elevator at noon.”
She gave me a quick wave before leaving my office, and I let out a heavy sigh, unprepared for the meeting in a few minutes.
I grabbed my laptop, forced a calm I didn’t really feel, and walked down the corridor. The closer I got, the warmer I felt, like my skin knew he was near before I even laid eyes on him.
I pushed open the large door and took in the sight in front of me. Around fourteen men were sitting around the table, all wearing suits. And there he was, sitting at the head of the table, fingers tapping lazily against it. He looked up as I walked in, and that slow, knowing smirk curved across his mouth.
Of course, the only open seat was next to him. Then again, I was his assistant. I needed to be close to him at all times. Apparently.
I put on a smile and greeted the other men. Some of them I knew, others were new faces I didn’t expect to ever see again after this meeting. I walked over to sit down next to Dean, trying not to make eye contact, but the air between us buzzed with so much electricity and tension. Dean didn’t say a word, but I felt the weight of his gaze slide down my neck, linger at my collarbone, then my legs.
He shifted subtly in his chair, his thigh brushing mine just enough to make me jolt. Then he leaned in, voice a low whisper only for me to hear while the other men chatted.
“Still aching from last night?”
I inhaled sharply, eyes fixed on the presentation slides ahead, pretending like my body wasn’t betraying me yet again.
“Don’t worry,”
he murmured, breath warm against my ear. “I’ll fix that later.”
I gripped the sides of my laptop, my thumb prints staining the clean screen. All I could think in that moment was: this man is going to ruin me.
And the unfunny thing about that was…I would let him.
The meeting went on for over an hour, and I wrote down everything important. I was focused, but that lasted only until Dean placed his hand on my thigh under the table. One of the men I didn’t know was talking up front, explaining what was on the presentation, while everyone else listened closely.
My body tensed as Dean’s fingers slid beneath the hem of my skirt, inching higher on my thigh with excruciating slowness. I tried desperately to maintain my composure as I felt the heat of his touch against my skin.
“Take notes, Emilia,”
he whispered, his voice carrying an edge of amusement only I could detect. “This is important information.”
His fingertips traced small circles on my inner thigh, each one moving gradually higher. I curled my hands into fits, letting them hover over the keyboard. The Morrison case details blurred before my eyes.
"Problem focusing?" Dean leaned closer, his lips barely grazing my ear. "You seemed so…attentive last night."
I crossed my legs abruptly, trapping his hand between my thighs. A mistake. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin there, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
“Uncross them,”
he commanded softly, his professional fa?ade never slipping. To everyone else, he appeared to be whispering work instructions.
Against my better judgement, I obeyed, parting my legs slightly. His fingers resumed their torturous path, now dangerously close to the edge of my underwear.
“I wonder if anyone would notice,”
he mused, his attention seemingly on the presentation while his fingers told a different story. “If I made you come right here.”
“Dean,”
I breathed, the word barely audible.
One of the men sitting further down the table glanced our way, and I quickly typed something on my laptop, pretending I was taking notes.
“Yes, Emilia?”
Dean asked loudly enough for the others to hear, withdrawing his hand with maddening casualness. “Did you have a question about the case?”
All eyes turned to me. My cheeks burned as I fumbled for words.
“I…I was just wondering about the timeline for discovery,”
I managed.
Dean’s smile was pure wickedness. “I think we’ll need to discuss that in private. After the meeting.”
The meeting dragged on for another twenty minutes, during which Dean’s hand returned twice more. Then, a third, but he did way more than just teasing that time.
His fingers moved closer to my clit, finding me already embarrassingly wet. The moment his fingertips made contact with my clit, I had to disguise my gasp as a cough, drawing a few concerned glances from across the table.
“Water?”
someone offered.
I shook my head, unable to form words as Dean's middle finger began making slow, deliberate circles. My thighs trembled beneath the conference table, and I gripped the edge of my laptop so hard my knuckles turned white.
"As you can see from the chart," the presenter continued, completely oblivious to my torment, "our strategy needs to account for these variables."
Dean increased the pressure slightly, his movements becoming more purposeful. I bit down on my lower lip, trying to focus on anything else—the presentation, the potted plant in the corner, the stack of papers beside me—anything but the building pressure between my legs.
I had to press my palm flat against the table to steady myself. I was dangerously close to the edge, my breath becoming shallow as I fought against the waves of pleasure threatening to overtake me. His fingers moved faster now, and I had to pretend to look at something on my laptop just to hide my face for a moment. Pressure kept building inside of me, my toes curling in my heels as I desperately tried to maintain control.
Just when I thought I couldn't hold back any longer, Dean leaned close, his breath hot against my ear. "Not yet," he whispered. "Wait until I tell you."
I didn’t know how I made it through the next ten minutes. My entire body was on fire, trembling with the effort of restraint. Dean's fingers never stopped their torturous dance, bringing me to the edge again and again only to slow down just enough to deny me release.
"In conclusion," the presenter finally said, "I believe this strategy gives us the best chance of success."
"I agree," Dean said, his voice steady while his fingers increased their pace once more. "I think we're done here."
As the men began gathering their things, murmuring among themselves, Dean leaned in closer.
"Now," he commanded softly. "Come for me now."
My body obeyed instantly. I bit down hard on my lip as waves of pleasure crashed through me, my thighs clamping around his hand. I somehow managed to keep my expression neutral. I got up the second his hand left my pussy, and after gathering my things, I walked out of the room.
Anger and frustration, and maybe a bit of adrenaline, rose inside of me. What he just made me do was sick. For a boss to treat his assistant like this was fucking sick! But I wasn’t allowed to feel like a victim. I wasn’t. I wanted this. I wanted Dean to touch me. And all this anger inside of me was because of the choice I made.
“Stupid, stupid girl,”
I muttered to myself as I closed my office door behind me. “I’m such a stupid—ugh!” I set my laptop down with a loud thud, but any concern for it disappeared the second I heard the door behind me.
I whipped around just as Dean stepped inside, cool and composed like he hadn’t just finger-fucked me in the middle of a conference room full of colleagues.
He closed the door with a soft click, locking it.
I stood there, chest rising and falling fast, fists clenched at my sides.
“Dean, you can’t just—”
He crossed the room in three slow, measured steps, cutting off whatever weak protest I thought I could make. His tie was loosened, his sleeves pushed up, and that hungry look in his eyes stole the words from my mouth.
“Finish that sentence,”
he said, voice low, “and lie to me again.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My back hit the edge of my desk.
He kept coming until he was right in front of me.
“You think you didn't want it?”
he asked, tilting his head slightly. “You think I can't see the truth written all over you?”
I shook my head, but it was weak, half-hearted, traitorous.
Dean smiled. A slow, devastating thing. He brought his hand up. Not to touch me, but to trail his fingers lightly along the neckline of my blouse, just enough to make me shiver.
“You’re mad,”
he said, voice almost mocking. “But not because I touched you.”
Dropping his hand, his fingers curled around the edge of my desk on either side of me, boxing me in.
“You’re mad because you liked it.”
God help me, he was right.
“That was unprofessional,”
I managed to say.
He laughed. “You weren’t complaining last night when I was unprofessional.”
“That was different. That was—”
“After hours?”
he raised an eyebrow, his eyes taking in every inch of my face. “Is that what makes it acceptable to you? The time of day?”
I swallowed hard. “Dean, please…I have to get to work.”
“You’re so full of shit, Emilia. Admit it to yourself, at least. You enjoy every second of the attention I give you.”
He was so fucking ruthless. He had no shame. But then, why would he if he was right? He had me all figured out, almost as if he had known me all my life. Still, he didn’t want anything more than control over me.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips, with his hands gripping my waist tightly to lift me onto the desk. His fingers hooked around the hem of my skirt, pushing it over my thighs.
“Spread your legs,”
he demanded.
Of course, I showed no resistance. I wanted this. Whatever he was about to do, I would give myself to him once again.
“You want to get to work?”
he asked, sinking to his knees in front of me. “Then I’d better take care of you first.”
Seconds later, my tights and panties were off, and his mouth was on me, hot and relentless. I gasped as his tongue flicked over my clit, and I nearly came undone right then, my fingers tangling in his hair as I tried to hold on.
“You’re so fucking soaked,”
he said between strokes of his tongue. “You think you can pretend you don’t want this?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was already too far gone. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as he went to work with devastating focus. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I knew my nails were digging into his scalp, but he didn’t seem to care. He only increased the pressure, drawing shattering circles around my clit until I couldn’t hold back anymore. I came hard, heat pulsing through my entire body, my legs shaking as he held me firm.
“Dean,”
I cried out, the name ripped from my throat.
He didn’t stop until I was a mess of quivering limbs and ragged breaths, until I was sure I couldn’t take any more. Then he stood, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, looking down at me with a mixture of triumph and satisfaction.
“Still mad?”
he asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Yes,” I panted.
His laugh was low and smug. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, and I tasted myself on him. I kissed him back, fierce and needy, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. But he wouldn’t stay close for too long.
He broke the kiss and stepped back, letting me catch my breath.
I watched him, my mind a blur as he adjusted his hair and smoothed his sleeves, like he hadn't just wrecked me in the middle of my office.
“Be in my office in thirty minutes,”
he said, turning toward the door. “We’ll review the Morrison case.”
I nodded, still too breathless to trust my voice, my heart racing as he walked out, leaving me wanting more. Leaving me ruined, yet again.